


Confections and More

by Sniper_Blue



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Post-War, Establishing Hierarchy, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Gossip, M/M, Paranoia, Post-War, complaining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-01-05 00:11:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sniper_Blue/pseuds/Sniper_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Formerly 'The New Hot Spot'. G1 AU. The war is over - has been over for several vorn - and Prowl is finally getting out of working for the government. There's a new place opening up that will become the 'hot spot' to hang out at for the former Autobots and Decepticons and can you imagine what they will all get up to?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Original Setting

The New Hot Spot

Chapter One: Original Setting

* * *

 

It had been a long time coming, he mused, surveying the outside of the rather small building he had purchased over a vorn before. Finally he would be able to get back to a life that was not all about war, fighting, keeping others alive, and himself barely functioning. Not that he had chosen to return to what he had been, he could not bring himself to do that, but it was something he had always wanted to try his hand at, especially since all of his friends – those he had had at the time – had told him that he should have made a business out of what he did for them when requested. He had also enjoyed doing for them, creating new combinations that they were always eager to help him sample and supplying them with supplies for their many dates. It was something that he had given up entirely during the war and had only recently begun to experiment with again. However, just because he had ceased creating the little treats, it did not mean that he had forgotten how to. Ever since he had gotten his own, tiny apartment, which he had made sure had a small kitchenette, he had begun to work towards new recipes again – and had surprised all of the mecha that he worked alongside with how much calmer and happier he was. Ratchet had even been called in to do a processor scan since no one had believed what was happening was not caused by some kind of virus.

That had been an amusing time, especially since Ratchet had been the one that had argued so forcefully on his behalf to have his resignation accepted. That was reason enough to give him a small gift, one that had ended up with the medic staring after him with a jaw dropped in shock and a small box of some treats that had, before the war, been created specifically for overworked medics. He had yet to track him down to demand where they had come from, but he was expecting him to at some point in the near future. After all, if he wanted a steady supply of them, he was going to need to know where they were from and he had not told him that he was opening this place. Only Thundercracker was aware of his plans for this small building right in the middle of the business district and he had promised that he would meet him there at the beginning of the orn. He would arrive shortly, he knew, since the flier was always punctual and they had begun meeting over early energon several vorn before to discuss the needs and wants of each side when it came to peace time – something that their respective leaders had _finally_ decided needed to happen. The details had been left up to those mecha that each side had appointed as their representatives and, surprising both of them, they had been the most popular choices. Considering how much the Autobots had despised his leadership, he had had no expectation of being voted for and Thundercracker had believed that his Trinemate would have gotten the vote because he seemed to get his way more often than not. Neither of those, however, had happened and neither of them could find it in themselves to be upset about it since they had been able to set up one of the most equitable peace treaties anyone knew of ever having taken place and had formed a friendship that neither was going to soon forget, even if one of them was no longer working in the government.

In fact, he was walking down the rather narrow thoroughfare, wings held high and wide to stretch the kinks from the wiring that would have set in during a recharge cycle. His own sensor panels were also flared widely to accomplish the same action as he had only recently rolled out of his berth to make his way down as he did not live too close by. He raised a hand in greeting, drawing the attention of the larger Seeker as he was singled out from the rest of the small crowd of mecha that were flowing towards their jobs in the surrounding buildings, most of which were basic desk jobs that only the Neutrals could hold still long enough to accomplish. None of the former Autobots or Decepticons could ever return to a job where they had to be still for so long since all that they had known for millennia was action and had all chosen to go into fields that kept them mobile, with most of them in physical labor such as exploration or manufacturing if they were not employed in the government or trade.

“Good orn, Prowl,” the Seeker greeted him warmly, pulling his wings back for a hard stretch before allowing them to relax back into their normal set.

The doorwinger followed suit before moving forward to unlock the door and disarm the security system. “To you as well, TC,” he said with an informal flick of his panels in welcome.

“So this is where you’ve got yourself set up,” he murmured, looking around at the various tall buildings, all with signs showing some of the largest companies, surrounding this small, one level house that had been converted into a small shop that he knew the other mech had much bigger plans for. It was quite out of place in the area and seemed to have been one of the few surviving structures in this place, indicating that it had previously been a middle income neighborhood that had probably been destroyed in one of the many series of bombings that had taken place there in Simfur. “Definitely put yourself in the right place for business, that’s for sure. Once all of these mecha realize that they have a place they can stop and pick something up, they’ll be beating down your door to get inside.” He turned a critical optic on the doorwinger and asked with a grin, “Are you going to become a workaholic with this too?”

“Of course not,” the black and white answered, opening the door and gesturing for the flier to precede him, an action that most from the two opposing factions were still not comfortable with participating in as it meant that there was an enemy at their back, but that Prowl and Thundercracker had taken as the gesture it was meant as with their frame-types. Considering the extra sensors that their wings provided them, the one opening the door could easily read if someone was in the room that the other did not want to meet up with and, according to their culture, would enter the room before them if that were the case, otherwise the one opening the door would allow the other to enter first and guard their back as they did. “I find this job to be relaxing in a way that even working as an Enforcer never was, though it satisfied core coding. That and, as I am sure you are aware, I have not worked overtime in most of a vorn, at least at the Council buildings – I have been working here to get the place ready for this orn.”

The larger mech laughed lightly, stepping past the smaller black and white to enter the former residence. “Do you know why they chose to construct the business district here when this house showed that it used to be a residential area? And do you need help stocking the display cases?” His gaze darted over to the owner slyly. “I would be happy to help.”

The doorwinger chuckled at the last comment. “Of course you would, TC, but you would take all of my treats before anyone could even realize that I now have a business open here.” He paused for a moment, thoughtfully staring at the ceiling. “As for why the business district is here, I believe that was done so that mecha would not remember those that had come before and lived here with families. The Council is probably trying to spare the mecha that – or at least the Neutrals as I do believe that the Autobots and Decepticons have been through much worse than walking over land that their comrades and family had fallen on. Much worse. In fact, I remember having to walk over the deactivating frames of friends.”

He slipped behind the counter and lifted a box that was lying under it to sit the container on the polished copper. With the press of a button, the top and sides folded down to reveal what had been kept there – a large amount of all different kinds of treats and goodies that needed to be plated and then displayed or kept in their protective boxes that would fill the shelves behind him with the excess that would be needed, though these would only fill a small portion of the number that was needed. For that, he had a kitchen there that he could use as a type of ‘bakery’. “If you would be kind enough to hand the trays down to me?”

The Seeker looked around the – currently – small shop that he knew would be expanded eventually, spotting the rather large pieces of metal quickly where they sat on one of the higher shelves, balanced rather precariously near the edge. As he moved to do as asked, he commented, “What did you do, Prowl? Get ‘Warp to put them up there? Or did you have to stretch and then push them onto the shelf further? They surely are not stable by any means and could fall on your helm.” He brought them down carefully and placed them on the copper counter near to the doorwinger before moving each piece in the stack to a different place so that the other would not have to go digging for the specific one that he wanted to use.

With a grin for the flier, the smaller mech selected a rather small tiered set of trays and began to arrange some of the treats on it in a way known only to him, but that seemed to make them even more appetizing. “For your information, I put them up there myself as I do not quite trust Skywarp with them and they were out so close to falling because it would be easier for me to pull them down by myself if I had been unable to solicit your help this early since I know how the government can be.” He chuckled lowly. “As for falling on my helm, I do not believe it will do much damage as I have been hit there often enough. Ratchet has always enjoyed a kind of ‘percussive maintenance’ on us Autobots.”

That brought a laugh from the cerulean and silver mech that was loud and clear in its mirth at the truth of the statement that had just been delivered in such a deadpan tone. It was necessary to have a highly developed sense of humor when it came to this mech or the times he was joking would be lost on everyone. That was probably part of the reason that they had gotten along so well when they had finally been able to interact at the negotiations, though it had been helped along by the fact that they could read each other’s wing twitches like a book-file and had begun sharing many a conversation just that way while the other elected negotiators had been bickering over some of the smallest parts of the treaty – and ones that were not important to anyone other than those that were arguing. “And it sure has not knocked sense into your helms either!”

The doorwinger grinned lightly, panels twitching in his amusement. “No, it definitely has not. Even worse, it only encouraged the Twins, which brought more of it on them and began a quite vicious cycle that no one has ever tried to break. The medic is just too terrifying to confront and the Twins would not listen anyway.”

“No, that they would not do, if only to spite you and the command element. They’ve had it out for you all since the moment they joined the war.”

“Oh, they were not _that_ bad, and they normally _did_ listen to me. However, they rarely, if ever, listened to Optimus, who never could figure out why that was so. They shared why that was with me once, actually, and the explanation made a kind of sense, though I would not say that it was the most logical either,” he stated distractedly, placing the small tiers in a display case and moving on to the next plate.

“Would you care to share what that reason was?”

“Just that they knew that I could do them more damage if they did not follow my orders, but that Prime would not do anything other than look at them with disappointment. Apparently that look had become so common that it no longer had any effect on either of them, but the fact that I had the power to send them into battle on a suicide mission without them knowing it was enough to keep them in line for me.”

Thundercracker laughed lightly. “Kept them in line, Prowl? Unlikely.”

“Oh, they were kept in line, TC,” he said, turning a rather wicked grin on the Seeker. “Who do you think encouraged all of the pranks that they pulled and made sure that they had the materials they needed?”

The blue and silver mech stared for a long moment in shock. That was not something he had been able to deduce from anything that he and the former tactician had ever talked about. “Seriously? _You_ were the one that helped them do _those_?”

“Of course. It kept morale up and kept all three of us engaged in what was happening on the _Arc_. If we had not been engaged in that, we would all three have become the most reclusive mecha you would ever come across. Sideswipe pulled it off the best, of course, but both Sunstreaker and I had friends. It will come in handy when word gets out that I have opened this place.”

“That it will, though I think that you will have enough business coming in soon enough without any help from the Autobots. You’re situated perfectly.” He checked his chronometer quickly to make sure he still had enough time to get over to the Assembly Hall in time for his office hours that he had taken on. It was time for him to leave to be able to make them and he said as much to Prowl.

One of the small containers from the large box was picked up quickly and pushed into his hands by smaller white ones. “That is for you. They are Seeker grade with plutonium flakes, gelled, and encased in trillium. Try not to eat them all this orn, TC. I do not have any others currently made and they take several orn to finish to my standards.”

With a chuckle, he darted from the building and launched himself into the air – only after stuffing the container of treats into his subspace so that they would not be damaged – so that he could reach the Hall on time. By foot, it would take far too long and would leave too many wondering where he was at, which would just result in a huge hoopla that he did not need, though it would definitely draw attention to Prowl’s little shop. That kind of publicity could kill it though, so he continued on his flight pattern, the small box burning a hole in his subspace as he restrained himself from pulling them out and sampling them before he landed.


	2. Confounded Speculation

    The door to the small confections shop opened rather hesitantly, starting and stopping as it went, as a nervous mech slowly made his way inside and began taking everything in that he could. Prowl had been alerted through his HUD as soon as the blue and white had stepped out of the normal traffic pattern by a tiny, legally ambiguous piece of code planted in the nearby cameras that Red Alert, apparently, had yet to come across. Illegal software, as it had been classified in the peace treaty, had pinged him a short moment later with the possible customer's public information in a compact file that he perused for anything that might make or break this possible sale. It was probably an appropriate time to think about thanking Jazz for that long ago, unwanted-at-the-time upgrade yet again. The information that it was able to access was a great asset, especially in this particular case, as there was a note on this mech's file that stopped him just before he would have turned and looked at him. That would have chased Breakdown out before he had sated even a small fraction of his quite apparent curiosity. It was better to wait until he was addressed to even lay an optic on his chassis and, even then, choosing to not look up from what he was doing whenever the former Decepticon eventually spoke to him would probably be the better option.

    Surprisingly, the skittish mech quickly moved over to the display case that he was working on finishing the set up for, only casually glancing over the treats on display along his way, a short time after entering and asked, "Do you have anything with the tastes of Earth?"

    He just caught himself before he would have looked up at the Stunticon and instead addressed him with optics still fixated on the way he was arranging the last box of pre-made goodies. "I have a recipe that I created while on Earth that I can use to make a batch over the dark cycle and either have them here for you to pick up next light cycle or I can deliver them to an address that you give me, if you would prefer. I can assure you that they are rather good, but I cannot guarantee the prices of them as I can the others that I have here as it is a resource that is imported rarely. Most mecha seem to enjoy Cybertronian crafted ones more now, but there is something to be said for it."

    "Then how are you going to be able to get them to me next cycle if they're only brought in every so often?"

    "I had ordered a small shipment for personal consumption not so long ago as I also feel myself craving a rawer form of energon than is available here, plus those radioactive particles just add something that some of the normal brew of Cybertronian energon cannot compare to." He placed the small tiers he had just finished within the case and took a small step backwards so that he would be able to see the effect they made in the glass. "I will simply order more for myself and postpone it. However, I must ask if there are any particular minerals you would like included in the goodies."

    "Zinc, copper, and cobalt. I have no preference in regards to if they are mixed together or not."

    Prowl grabbed one of the handy datapads, things that he kept laying around even though he would no longer have any need for all of them, and pulled a stylus out of subspace to jot the information down on. At the same time, he put his processors to calculating the price that he would need to charge for however much Breakdown wanted. "Amount?"

    "Of the mineral or of the goodies themselves?"

    "The goodies. Too much of the elements and the taste is thrown off, too little and they are impossible to taste. I have worked with all three of the minerals before and know the correct amounts already."

    The blue and white hummed for a long moment as Prowl noted down some other things that he thought he might try and interest the mech in at a later time if he was still interested after this order was complete. There were a few minerals he thought one of the gestalt might like along with a few Cybertronian mixes he might have to try and introduce them to. He also made a note to himself that he needed to experiment more with Earth-based energon so that he could offer more variety to those that were interested in Earth-based confections.

    "I would like to get as much as two hundred credits can get me," he stated suddenly, pulling a pre-loaded credit chip out of his subspace and placing it next to the datapad that the owner was working on. He did not trust any mech to not try and rip him off by putting a different amount of credits on the chip when it was scanned to his accounts and, so, carried around an abundance of the small devices which connected to various accounts that he kept only small amounts of credits in. This one would only be reloaded when he was returning to this shop, if he found the goodies to his liking in any case, and the chip would stay with the mech for just that reason. It was just weird for mecha to carry only one which connected to their main account. That left them open to so many being able to charge them whatever they felt like and could do so at any time.

    He just barely caught himself before looking up again, but caught himself just before he could have made contact with anything higher than the Stunticon's chest plates. "I only have enough energon for one hundred and seventy-five credits worth currently."

    "I'm leaving the chip with you. Charge however much it turns out to be. I'll be back next light cycle."

    Prowl frowned as he notated the document he had just created with that small fact before writing the amounts of the minerals he would need to stop and pick up before returning to his apartment that dark cycle. "If that is what you would prefer." He also added an annotation that he would need to purchase a small safe that would fit in his subspace, though he did not think that many would follow Breakdown's example. Too many mecha did not deem the purchase of multiple credit chips to be appropriate and most found it too expensive for their liking.

    As soon as he agreed, the sports car darted out the door with a hurried good-bye, leaving the black and white to stare at the closed door in consternation even as he tucked the credit chip into his subspace. He would charge it after he finished the order and knew whether he had succeeded with the recipe or not. With a shake of his head, he turned back to the datapad and made one last note before putting the infernal thing away and pulling the stool he had recently purchased out from under part of the solid counter and produced a personal datapad from his subspace. It was unlikely he would ever be working at all times and it was only a matter of time before he began to work his processor in circles out of boredom since it was unlikely he would have another customer this early in the light cycle when he was just starting up and mecha did not know he was there.

    He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the counter to hold the datapad at the angle he wanted it before moving one hand to support his helm. Just as he was truly getting absorbed in the human written crime novel, reading much slower than he normally would have when he had been an officer or even when he had been in the government. However, the end of the war was _not_ something he wished to dwell on and was rather grateful to have the novel to absorb himself in, despite the fact that it would not take him that long to finish. He was sure that he would have this particular one finished long before the light cycle was over, which was the reason he had downloaded ten of the books he wanted to read before he had left his apartment at the beginning of the light cycle - the morning, he had to correct himself. It was a recent development that Cybertron had a light and heat source the equivalent of the human's sun. There were not even that many solar systems between them and travel between the two civilizations was rather easy, especially now that the space bridge was fully repaired and no longer being attacked.

    His door opened again - this time confidently, almost arrogantly - to admit a mech he had never thought to see on this side of the slowly rebuilding city of Simfur. He looked around the small shop imperiously, taking everything in, before his gaze landed on the black and white relaxing behind the counter.

    "Good morning, Sunstreaker," he greeted, setting his datapad of novels down next to the chip scanner that he would use to transfer credits from his customers' accounts to his. "What can I help you with?"

    "This is a little below your pay grade, ain't it, Prowl?" the former frontliner asked as he sauntered over and leaned on the copper countertop near his former Commanding Officer. His easy grin took the sting out of the words and brought an answering brightness in the Praxian's field. "I'm not even going to bother being surprised. Got anything I can give to Sides? He's a bit pissed with me right now."

    The doorwinger chuckled lowly. "What did you do to him this time?"

    For all that he had never _encouraged_ gossip while living on the _Ark_ , he had always been ready to share what he had heard with those he had been close to and had always enjoyed listening to whatever was brought to him by them. Sunstreaker was quite aware of that quirk of his and launched into his story, complete with dramatic flair.

    "Well, you know how he's been travelling all the time and getting into those brawls with the mini-bots?" At his affirming nod, the golden mech continued. "I accused him of wanting to frag them since he's always hanging around them. It was _totally_ meant as a joke, but he took it seriously. And then, of course, I just had to open my mouth and add more fuel to the fire. Told him that since he _obviously_ wasn't interested in Blue anymore, I was going to take a crack at him - which I was totally joking about!" He held his hands us in surrender at the black and white's accusing stare. "And he threw his newest batch of high grade at me and stormed out. I haven't seen him since."

    He shook his helm in slight annoyance and a massive amount of pity. "That was a _really_ stupid move, Sunstreaker. However, I do think I might have something that he would like. He _does_ like tungsten and tellurium, correct?"

    "Yep. His two favorite additives. And you know he'll drink almost any grade of energon."

    "Well, how about two different kinds. I have tungsten bars with tellurium shavings and a solidified oil layer embedded and one with a sticky high grade - one of my own concoctions - center surrounded by a thick layer of tellurium." He glanced over his shoulder and doorwing at the mech as he made his way to the other end of the display cases. "What do you think?"

    He hummed in thought for a short moment. "One hundred credits worth, for now. I'll return if I still have to convince him further. Do you have any silver-dipped rust sticks? Or some with medical grade?"

    "I have both. What do you want the medical grade ones for?" Prowl asked as he crouched and began packing half a box full of the tungsten bars before moving over to the tellurium Queens, which were named after a similar human confection named Queen Anne's, and adding those, waiting for his answer from the frontliner.

    After several moments of silence as he watched the other work, he finally answered the question. "I'm going to give it to Hook. He really helped a great deal in setting up my studio and I want to thank him, especially since he did that _on top of_ helping Ratchet at the new hospital. Figured he could use them in any case."

    "What's the credit limit on the rust sticks and the medical grade ones?" he questioned, moving back to where he had been sitting and placing the full box on the countertop before moving to grab two small 'Chinese takeout' containers he had created in his free time out of boredom. They were as small as his containers got and he hoped that Sunstreaker asked for enough so that they would not look rather empty. It would not give the best of impressions.

    "Fifty credit limit on each." He turned to lean back on his elbows on the counter, surveying the room more closely. "Are you going to expand later?"

    "I am hoping to, in any case," Prowl answered absently as he carefully packed the medical grade gels with layers of plas-sheet between each set of nine, covering the top layer of gels with more plas-sheet so that they would not stick to the top flaps. Hook would appreciate that touch, he was sure, as letting them stick would only waste some of their nutrients. Popping the other box open, he began placing rust sticks carefully as they had a tendency to break if _just too much_ pressure was applied. "I have yet to think of appropriate themes for each room though and was going to do some more research before I decide. Plus, I have to know if I will get enough business to warrant putting the credits into a remodel. What do you think my chances are?"

    He huffed. "Of course you're gonna expand, Prowl. You've got a good location. You'll have a set clientele because of where you're at. You _know_ that Thundercracker and most of us 'Bots will be in. You're set! And if you ever decide to do more advertising than just word of mouth, I'm sure that you could turn it into a chain or franchise. Or at least you could when we finally get more cities rebuilt." He looked around the only room he could currently see, searching for a particular feature that he thought would appeal. "Do you have an ion fireplace here?"

    "In one of the other rooms, yes," he answered as he stood back up from his careful crouch and shut the backs of the display cases, picking the two small boxes up from where they rested by his feet and moving back to set them on top of the larger one that he had already filled with Sunstreaker's 'asking-for-forgiveness and groveling' gift. "Do you think that I should set a theme around that?"

    "Yep," he answered, rather chipper. Anyone who had only known his public persona during the war had been greatly surprised when he had reverted back to what he actually was like once the treaty was finally signed. He was more violent than he had been before the war, but that was only to be expected - almost everyone was, disregarding the Neutrals. "It'd be nice when it comes around to what the scientists are predicting will be a cold season."

    He reached into his subspace for a short moment and pulled free a bright red credit chip that he handed over to the Praxian. "A total of two hundred credits, correct?"

    Another chuckle rolled out of the black and white. "Correct. I see your math skills are still up to par," he teased as he scanned the chip and entered the amount of credits that should be transferred. "Try not to piss Sideswipe off like that again. It may be good for my credit supply, but it will do little good for your relationship."

    Sunstreaker laughed, clasping a white forearm for a short moment with a wide smile. "Don't I know it. He's annoying when he's angry."

    He stored the boxes one by one in his subspace as he prepared to leave. His own small box was pushed the furthest in before Sideswipe's present was carefully placed, quickly followed by Hook's. The chip was handed back to him soon after and was slipped back into its specialized slot.

    "I'm off to the hospital, but I'll try and stop in again soon. No promises though."

    "I will see you later then, Sunstreaker," he stated with a wave after the retreating frame.

    He slumped back onto his barstool and picked up his datapad, tapping the screen back on to reveal where he had been in the novel he had started and began reading again. The next time that he would probably have a customer was mid-cycle, so he had the time to relax since there was no need to restock right then.


	3. Medical Mayhem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet stops by.

            A huffing laugh brought his attention up and away from the novel he had gotten so absorbed in that he had not responded to the pings from his program telling him that someone was approaching. It was something that would never have happened during the war, and only partially because he had been more wary at that time. The red and white frame that greeted him was one that he had not thought to see any time soon as the mech had thrown himself into the work at the hospital with so much enthusiasm that none of the Autobots had expected him to surface any time soon in society unless he was dragged out by one of his apprentices or the Twins.

            “So this is what you decided to do after retiring from government, huh?” the medic laughed, thinking of the goodies that he had run out of long before but had not taken the time to research their origins. He was, apparently, looking at his answer. “Wouldn’t Prime be surprised to find out what his SIC decided was more rewarding?”

            It was easy to see the exhaustion in the medic’s frame as he carefully walked over to the counter and heavily leaned on it. Prowl set his datapad down on one of the shelves behind him before leaning forward to copy the medic’s stance. “I would hope that he does not even become interested in what I am doing now. Dealing with him alone was a full-time job that I do not wish to return to in any capacity.”

            Ratchet wryly chuckled, his helm shaking as he looked around the small shop for a place to sit. There was nothing that would offer any relief to his tired frame. “Ya got any place to sit? I just got off shift and you would not _believe_ how many _idiots_ I had to deal with! They weren’t even the idiots I had to fix all the time during the war, either!”

            “Of course they wouldn’t be, Ratch,” Prowl commented as he moved from his seat and around the side of the counter, grabbing the extra stool he had placed under the bar to offer the medic. It was gratefully appreciated and slumped onto at the first opportunity the medic had, the former tactician returning to his own so that they could talk more easily, though he moved over to one of the display cases and picked up a small selection tray that he thought Ratchet would appreciate.

            “And why is that?” he asked, rather blearily as his optics caught on the goodies and confections that dotted the tray in a wide array of colors. He had been unaware that they could be made in that many different shades as he could not remember having seen any like them before the war had begun.

            Most of our mechs learned how to avoid all of the damage that they could and you would not be complaining about them as they all learned field repairs and have become competent with some of the further ones. The only time that they would require a hospital is when they have injuries that would need surgery or extensive work, which is not the case for most of them as they have the plating to deal with what is common now. They would not even think of going to medics for minor things – even Sunstreaker, Tracks, and the Seekers. In fact, I just saw Sunstreaker earlier this cycle and he was headed over to the hospital. I believe that he may be choosing to court Hook.”

            That last statement brought the other’s white helm jerking up to stare at him in astonishment before the red and white was able to formulate a sentence. “He’s doing _what_?”

            “I think that he wants to court Hook,” he repeated as he set the tray down between them carefully so that none of the goodies would roll off. “Though, I could be wrong on that and he was doing exactly as he said earlier, but I do not think so. He’s always been attracted to mechs with blockier and heavier frames than his. For a while at the beginning of the war, before he became so cut off, he had courted Hound and Trailbreaker. I also caught him admiring Ironhide a few times when he thought that no one was looking.”

            That caused Ratchet to splutter, optics widening as he tried to reconcile the menace he had come to know with the mech that Prowl was describing – a much sought after submissive. Anyone who had known him during the war had always assumed he was a dominant; just as they had all assumed that the both of them were also dominants even when they displayed clearly submissive behavior by not actively looking for promotions, but instead trying to make their superiors look good. Jazz, and a select few others, had been obvious switches, making most of them quite good in Special Operations. He had never understood how Prowl and Jazz had made their relationship work though, as the saboteur had always seemed a little more on the submissive side also.

            The black and white chuckled briefly, face lightening a great degree as a smile made itself known. Apparently their medical officer had not been as aware of the preferences of the army as he ought to have been. “What, Ratch? Did I actually make you speechless?”

            “Of course you did, ya glitch!” the medic sputtered before catching what he had just said and the way that the Praxian’s face fell. He reached over the counter, over the tray that had been set in front of him, and grabbed a white hand in his ruby one. “I didn’t mean it like that, Prowl. Just didn’t pick my words carefully enough.”

            That was probably as much of an apology as he was going to get from the red and white, but he was still rather put off by the insult, especially as it was used as a descriptor for him before the war had really heated up since his processors caused problems as they were not perfectly integrated with the rest of his systems. Several of the Neutrals had called him that to his face during his time in the government, as had many that had met him on the streets since they tried to follow their representatives’ lead, though the former had done so out of malice. The word brought up old memories that he would rather leave buried as far into the depths of processors as possible.

            With a prompting nudge across their slightly blended fields, Ratchet brought the doorwinger’s attention up from the counter to his face. “I’m sorry, Prowl. I know better than to use it around you, but I still did.”

            “Just,” he paused for a long moment to gather himself further. “Just try not to do so again, please.” His voice was much smaller than it had been before, evidence of his upset, and brought all of the medic’s protective instincts to the fore, which most mecha had assumed was dominant behavior. He was just glad that the mech currently courting him had looked past that assumption just far enough to see a submissive in need of a dominant to keep him from driving himself too far past his limits. The mech still had problems figuring out exactly what those limits were since he was also occupied with his own job, but it was more care than he had known in a long while with his closest friends being as bad of workaholics as he was.

            “I won’t,” he promised, even though he was unsure if he would be able to comply all of the time. Glancing down at the tray, he changed the subject to something more pleasant. “So what are all of these made out of? And you made those medical grade goodies you gave me on your last day didn’t you?”

            “I did,” Prowl confirmed with a short nod, not releasing the grip he had taken on the medic’s digits after they had made contact with his plating even as he removed two small cubes from his subspace so that they could share something as they talked and that would help keep the confections from overpowering their tanks since they were quite sensitive to the energon grade and quality that was now available. His face lit up slightly as he looked over the small tray. “The bright red ones are plastic-coated iron bars, the blue ones are sticky high-grade with a cobalt glass coating, the green ones are oxidized copper bars with an oil layer between the two layers, sulfur gives the yellow ones color and they have a platinum and silver mix in the center, the purple ones are a mixture of cobalt and iron over a gold center and have a sticky high grade injected into them, and the orange ones are a copper and aluminum mix surrounding a liquid medical grade. I know that not all of them are really things that should be ingested in large quantities, but I try to not consume unhealthy amounts. It is not like I can really stop anyone else though if they come in and want to order in bulk.”

            He tossed the shop owner a grin as he picked up one of the purple treats and turned it between his digits, running an optic over it in examination. Deeming it fit enough in comparison to his expectations, he popped it in his mouth and broke into it, tasting contemplatively as his hand returned the grip of white fingers. His rather dim optics brightened with the slight boost in his energy levels. A low hum came from his chassis. “These are _good_ , mech. I think that I’m gonna _have_ to have a supply.”

            “That can be arranged,” Prowl stated with a grin, lifting his small cube and taking a sip. He had been keeping up with the correct levels of energon consumption for his frame ever since the war had ended and there had not been so many demands on his time as to preclude him from refueling and recharging as he needed to so that he could function optimally. “Personally, I would see about getting the medical grade ones to be put on the hospital’s bill since I could see where all of the medics could use them, but I am unsure if they would accept that. Of course, negotiation is something that both Thundercracker and I do _very_ well and you threaten well enough that I think the Neuts would listen.”

            Ratchet chuckled lowly as he washed the goodie down with a sip of the high quality mid-grade Prowl had supplied, which was what many of the Neutrals still considered a low quality mid-grade. They had much more sensitive tanks than those that had not been in the war, but they could also survive – and probably thrive – on a quality much lower than the others had ever contemplated consuming. “I might have to enlist Thundercracker’s help on that since the Neutrals that run the place are idiots about most everything and haven’t tried to understand where Hook, Knockout, the other Autobot medics, and I are coming from and try to get up to treat the mecha that come in according to what they developed over the course of the war without taking into account that we didn’t learn that. Plus, our berthside manners could use a lot of work according to them. They even complain about _First Aid’s_ handling of the mecha! He’s the _least_ abrasive of us!”

            “He’s downright _nice_ ,” Prowl agreed with a disbelieving flick of his sensor panels. It was not how most of the warriors wanted to be greeted when they came out of stasis unless it was that particular mech that was doing the check-ups. They had all taken a while to get used to the treatment since it had normally heralded a mech or femme that had almost off-lined before First Aid. “How in the slagging Pits do the Neutrals even treat patients if they consider _him_ to be violent? I know that he’ll throw some of his tools sometimes, but never at the mecha he’s treated. Is that what is considered violent?”

            “Let’s just say that it’s a good thing that they haven’t ever worked on any ‘Bots or ‘Cons. I think a lot of them would keel over in shock at the vitriol that some of them can spew as they walk in with what the Neuts consider ‘debilitating injuries’.” He snorted heavily through his vents, mimicking what they had heard many humans do when frustrated and had adopted so quickly as to not remember a time when they did not use such types of expression, at the thought of what was all considered such. Many of those types of expressions still baffled the Neutrals they shared the planet with since very few were interested in keeping up relations with the humans and none had gone over to Earth even though many of the former Autobots and Decepticons returned as trade contacts or just to visit the planet for the entertainment of driving in other conditions. “I mean, how is a broken arm strut debilitating? It’s painful as slag, especially if you’re doing something, but you can still _walk_ somewhere. None of the ‘Bots or ‘Cons ever even came to us for a fix unless it was shattered during the battle and they waited until most of the rest of the injuries had been taken care of after a battle if they didn’t take care of it themselves. When I make a Neut walk back to the treatment room that has a clean break, they seem to think that I’m _killing_ them. In all honesty, it’s kind of _funny_ when it isn’t so _pathetic_.”

            The former tactician chuckled while shaking his helm at the fragility of the Neutrals. They had been sparklingsat for the entirety of the war, it seemed, and were trying to apply that to everyone they ran across without taking into account that they all had different far experiences. “Slag. If you, or any of the war-time medics, tried treating us anything like that, we’d all think that we were deactivating. They’d have a bunch of panicking mecha on their helms in no time flat if they try that with us.”

            “I think that’s why we aren’t just thrown out of the hospital, actually,” Ratchet lamented as he sampled another confection, this time the red one. “They don’t want to get rid of us since none of them want to work on the warriors or, as they like to call us, the Destroyers.” He huffed his disgust at the title. “They’re never gonna integrate with that thinking either, which brings up the small fact that we could deactivate them all so quickly the first ones gone would still have their helms rolling on the ground when the last were killed. Plus, most of our medics were the more skilled ones since we could all see the corruption that the ‘Bots and ‘Cons were fighting against.”

            Prowl frowned. “I had thought that we had gotten rid of that kind of thinking while I was in government. It’s too bad we missed those mecha since none of us will want to hear it if we’re there for treatment and it will end up with some injured medics. Plus, the way that the government is set up now is so much more efficient and there are so many less loopholes that allow for exploitation that I would think everyone would be happy.” He huffed a long sigh. “Apparently not.”

            “I guess not,” Ratchet grumbled, his ruby fingers tightening on white ones for a long moment before loosening, but not letting go entirely. The contact with a trusted mech was enough to offer him support he had been lacking over the last duty shift since none of the other war-time medics had been scheduled with him, especially as they had all gotten so used to being in close contact with one another during the war that being as tactile as they had become was normal to them. The Neutrals all had a hard time adjusting to how much the ones that had served in the war liked to touch now since they had kept with the Cybertronian standard of touching only those close to a mech or femme and, usually, only when in relative privacy. He found their inability to adapt troubling, as he was sure many of the other medics also did since it was against core coding to not continuously learn. Even _Prowl_ , with his wacky processors had quickly taken to the practice and enjoyed it just as much as, if not more than, the most openly hedonistic of the factions.

            Prowl huffed at that. “Apparently. It would be nice if any of them would act as if we actually did anything worthwhile to them and did not just act in our own interest – which all of us did to some extent, but was not our entire reasoning. Megatron had his reasons and had learned to not trust Primes as Sentinel was a total fragger. Optimus came to power late in the game and was not effective to begin with. The rest of us, we all had our reasons. Yours was that so many mecha were deactivating and then the medics were targeted. I chose to join up because of the discrimination that was directed my way because of my condition, though I did not do so until much later in the war than most think.”

            He took his time savoring the green treat as he contemplated the various reasons they had all joined the war, some of them more noble than others but all for specific rationales. Most of them despised the Neutrals because they had not cared to change the way that the government was acting despite knowing what had been happening to them all. They had been what was wrong with society at the time since they, the Autobots and Decepticons, had actually had the ball bearings to stand up for what they believed needed to be changed and the Neuts had not cared one iota. Even pacifists had joined up with either side, though more were on the Autobot side after they had maneuvered out from under the Senate’s thumb and become their own entity that was opposing the government, and could see the corruption that was being opposed. The only reason that the two factions had not merged at that time was that Sentinel Prime and Megatron had become embroiled in their own private battle against each other, though there had been that one memorable cease fire between them that had resulted in the destruction of the Senate and much of Iacon.

            Slim, white fingers gently rubbed along his and pulled him from his thoughts, bringing his attention to his companion. “It’s rather nice to see how well Optimus and Starscream divide their duties in the government, though I think that Megatron is one of the most settled of us since he went back to mining. Did you hear about the vein of cybertronium his team found just the other orn?”

            “I did, though I don’t remember who told me – maybe it was Hook? Either way, it’s quite exciting since the scientists predict that it means Cybertron is repairing itself and we will soon have the crystal forests returning since there are still a number of buds left in the top few layers that have not died. And didn’t I hear that Bluestreak was trying to nurture some buds to begin rebuilding some of the gardens?”

            Prowl’s smile was wry. “I think that he is, but he is not having much luck with it since they really are not the right kind for being manipulated like most of the garden crystals were.”

            They gossiped for a short while longer before Ratchet had to leave so that he could make it back to his flat for recharge without crashing along the way, though he was grateful for the boost of energy that Prowl had provided. He also left with fifty credits worth of the purple treats he had first tried as they had been his favorite of the selection. A promise was left with the former tactician that he would return after his next off-shift for another chat since it had calmed him much further than he otherwise would have been and would also allow them to compare gossip that they had collected in the meantime – one of their favorite pastimes that was a holdover from the war and most did not suspect of either of them.


	4. Communication Capers

            “But! Soundwave,” Ratbat whined in protest as the carrier-host slowed for a long moment before finally entering the shop that had caught the symbiont’s attention as they left the office building they had just collected information form. He had noticed the place on the way in and asked to come back after they had completed their objective since there was nothing else for them to do for the cycle. “Please? It looks interesting and I’ve never seen one before!”

            The bright purple and gold figure darted into the relatively small room and alighted on a bar conveniently hung from the ceiling where he could survey everything from his preferred, upside-down, orientation. This was all quite exciting to the young symbiont since he had _no idea_ what the things in the case-like things were. They looked like some of those things that had been in a candy shop and in another building that had been labeled a ‘bakery’ that he had observed for a bit while scouting out a city that was near a place that they had been attempting to take energy from to convert into energon. Those had been some rather interesting kliks, but not overly informative.

            “What’s all this stuff? Is it edible? I can smell energon, but I’ve never seen it like this. Is it good?”

            A soft chuckle drew their attention from each other and to the mech behind the counter. If Soundwave did not have a face mask, it would have been quite obvious how surprised he was to see the mech in such an unlikely place. Ratbat’s was made obvious by the fact that he had let go of the bar and would have slammed into the floor if the carrier-host had not reached out automatically and sent his manipulator cables to catch the small frame. He was still operating under protocols that he had activated during the war for their protection since they were not so different from what his original coding had been and had not been deemed harmful to assimilating with the Autobots and, later, the Neutrals.

            Soundwave recovered first, his cables pulling the small frame over to his own, far larger one to deposit Ratbat on his shoulder where small claws latched around the ridge there and wings flared to steady him. “Prowl’s whereabouts: previously unknown.” He looked around the currently small shop curiously, having been unaware of its opening. “Query: suggestions.”

            “I may have some, but I do not know what your preferences are in relation to minerals and elements. It also does not seem as if Ratbat knows what his are either,” he stated with a nod to the small purple and gold frame. He gestured for the symbiont to join him as he moved behind the display cases and accessed them so that he could pull out a few small selection trays – one like he had shared with Ratchet, one that had oil layers between wafers, and one that held an assorted selection of injected confections.

            The symbiont fluttered over nervously, landing on the display case instead of the offered shoulder perch in wariness, which Prowl was rather upset to notice as he had been hoping to have overcome that fear of him. He did not let it show in his field despite that as it would have scared Ratbat even further away from him. Considering his history with symbionts was well-documented and quite amiable, he had hoped to be able to spend more time with them, especially as he enjoyed his conversations with those he had met and been allowed extensive contact with. Each knew so much more than most believed because they could fit into places that no other mecha could, but they still stayed discreet, making them some of the most valuable allies anyone could have. Blaster had avoided him like the plague for some reason, so he had been hoping – apparently against hope – that Soundwave and his symbionts would be different. It seemed as if his old partner had been an aberration by befriending a Praxian since, apparently, his frame-type was known for discrimination against carrier-hosts. That friendship had started off far from amicably, Analog having been assigned to watch over him in the field to make sure he did not glitch and deactivate while on duty since the city-state would be held liable if he did. From there, they had grown quite close through a series of unfortunate events that left them having to rely entirely on each other to escape from the underground gladiator pit they had been taken to after being drugged. Even the most aloof of Analog’s symbionts, his turbohawk by the designation of Longview, had eventually taken to him, though that particular one had never deigned to perch on his plating as the other flighted ones of Analog’s cabal had.

            His drooping doorwings worried Soundwave, but there was nothing he could do to figure the reason out as he had been ordered to not try and read any of the Autobot command staff or the ones that had worked on the treaty. It was a matter of security from prosecution, in a way, and also was meant to be a sign of the Decepticons’ trust in the Autobots. There was no such rule against the Neutrals though, especially after seeing the way that many of the war-time commanders had been treated. The insults thrown at the Praxian had probably been the worst that he had heard applied to any of them, but the black and white had never showed any reaction to them. That had alienated many Decepticons and Neutrals alike. Soundwave, with his access to anyone’s thoughts and inability to block those that thought loudly, knew just how affected the mech had been, mainly through the medical officer’s thoughts as he had been mentally shouting and cursing at the Neutrals that had been elected as representatives of those that had fled the planet. Only once had the Praxian been driven to a rage within the time that he had spent near him, but that one time had been enough to terrify both him and his symbionts. Doorwings had swept up to the highest position anyone had ever seen them in, his frame had vibrated with the iron will he was using to not ferociously attack the mech that had insulted him so fully, and his voice had dropped so low and icy that most of those present had wondered how the room was not having ceiling to floor icicles form. Many of the Neutrals had not understood the threat they were faced with as the knowledge of reading doorwings had been lost to them almost entirely. Only a select few had seen what was taking place, and they had vibrated in terror, suppressing the need to run as far away as possible only because of the orders they had been given.

            “Which smells the most interesting, Ratbat?” he asked quietly, keeping his gestures small so as to not frighten the boltbat model any further away from him as he indicated each tray in turn. “Or would you like for me to just lay out a selection for you?”

            “I wanna choose,” the symbiont stated with a pout. “And you don’t know my frame well either. You wouldn’t choose what I’d like the best, I bet.”

            Prowl grinned at the cheek from the tiny frame. It reminded him greatly of Analog’s teal and silver boltbat model, Locator, in what could only be described as good ways. “If you’re anything like any of the other boltbat models I have been around, you would enjoy the silver encased mercury. However, I think that I would probably direct you to this,” he said, picking up the top confection of a small pile that looked quite similar to those next to it. “It is soft platinum with gold-infused sticky mid-grade injected through the bar. I should have thought of the fact that, for your frame-type, it should either be in a wafer or in a spherical shape instead of bars like this. Would you still like to try it?”

            “Smells good,” Ratbat said warily as he stared intently at the confection the former Autobot was holding towards him as nonthreatening as possible even as the small bat pulled his helm back from where he had been sniffing the treat. As he also had experience with his frame-type – how he got it, he had no idea – and apparently used to make confections for them, he was willing to take a chance that it would taste good, but he was not sure that he wanted to take it from the mech’s hand like he would from Soundwave. It did not seem right to do so.

            “Would you prefer your carrier-host try it first?” he asked patiently after just a few seconds of waiting, attempting to put them both at ease in his presence.

            The excited nodding of the small purple helm almost brought his free hand over to scratch behind the tiny audial flaps before he could stop the automatic reaction that had been conditioned into him so long ago by Locator. Instead, he held the tray up and out to Soundwave in an open invitation to do just that, popping the one in his hand in his own mouth since the outer casing was beginning to become more malleable than he cared to have it when he placed it back in the case.

            “Prowl: experience with symbiont frames,” he asked, the only indication that it was a question in the miniscule tilt to his helm and the slight bit of question he had allowed into his tone.

            “Yes and rather extensive experience at that. The models I know best are the boltbat, turbohawk, and cyberwolf, though I also have some experience with the tigerhack frame-type.”

            That last type of those he knew well caught their attention more thoroughly than most anything could. A cyberwolf model of symbiont was one of the most rare, both because of the personality that normally accompanied the frame-type and the size of the symbiont. They were the largest of the different types, usually standing all the way to the carrier-host’s hip, and sometimes above, at the shoulder. He had never desired one for himself, but he knew that most carrier-hosts did since they were status symbols of the highest kind, despite the fact that they were extremely territorial and aggressive about asserting themselves.

            “Wow,” Ratbat said, optics wide and drawing the single syllable out. “You _really_ knew a _cyberwolf_?”

            “Of course. I am not in the habit of lying about anything to anyone. It is too much hassle in the long-run. If I remember correctly from his host’s last transmission, they are only a few orns out from landing and are in the company of a trade ship returning from Earth that they were recently able to communicate with.” He was rather excited to meet up with his former partner and his cabal again, which would hopefully mean that he could get symbiont snuggles not long after since it had been one of their favorite pastimes when they had been off-duty. Analog and he also had a lot of catching up to do since the last time they had been in contact had been around the time the war had really heated up and Prowl had decided to join the Autobots. There had also been the hint that Analog had filled his cabal to capacity, meaning that he had bonded several more in the time they had been apart.

            “Query: information obtained.”

            “Oh, Analog would not talk to anyone else unless I was confirmed deactivated. I had to be called up to the Communications Hub to speak to him and verify the information that had been transferred to his ship from the trader. He’s always been a rather suspicious sort, enough so that he gave Red Alert a run for his credits when he tried hacking into the Hub while connected to it.”

            Soundwave slowly took one of the offered confections, surprised at how patient and talkative the former Autobot was since he had always seemed to stay closed off from everyone and would get quite annoyed with anyone who did not do what he ordered in what he considered a prompt manner. A short inspection revealed that it was exactly as Prowl had said, which peaked his interest since it did sound like a good combination for the tiny boltbat model. He popped it in his mouth and allowed the metals to soften further before chewing the slightly gummy material. They would definitely do better in the other forms that the Praxian had mentioned for Ratbat, but he could try the one and see if he even liked the combination. It was not always guaranteed that he would even if he had liked it just the orn before.

            A small manipulator cable swooped over and picked another treat up, a small blade extending to cut the end off before extending the small piece to the sybmiont, who was watching what was happening with great interest. He snapped the smaller treat up quickly, but took his time in analyzing how much he liked it and what each metal could mean for his frame. The effect of the gold was what he found most interesting as his short analysis returned.

            “I get to be more shiny?”

            Prowl answered with a nod, “Yes. The gold will eventually move to the metal that is under the gold paint on your frame and will add its luster to what is already there.”

            Tiny, red optics lit up in excitement. Shiny was always fun, especially when he could reflect the light being given off by the star they were orbiting. “How long will it take for all of the gold to get some under it?”

            “Depending on how often you have some of these, or anything else with gold in it, they could be finished within anywhere between half a vorn and several vorns from now. I would recommend, for health reasons – and so that Ratchet will not have my helm – that you try for somewhere between a vorn two two vorns.”

            “Query: health,” Soundwave asked as his symbiont’s interest drifted over their bond along with his enjoyment of the confection. That doing so could affect the way the small frame functioned was something he would have to analyze before he would allow him to do as he wanted.

            “Too much of some metals – such as gold – can clog up hoses and gum up the tank. It is quite unhealthy since the only way to fix that is to replace the parts that have been affected, which I know that none of the medics care to do when something is easily prevented. With the size of the boltbat frame-type, he will be unable to process as much as a mech of a large frame size in the same time limits.”

            “Please, Soundwave?” the tiny frame begged, optics widening in such a way as to remind Prowl of the way human’s described the eyes of immature canines that they owned.

            Soundwave huffed softly, a sound that Prowl’s sensors caught and that he dismissed as something he did not need to comment on. It was something he could recall the mech doing quite frequently during the negotiations when a topic that very few cared about was brought up to be added into the text. In the context of the symbionts, he had no idea what it meant, though he had some guesses due to the scene before him.

            “Quantity: seventy credits. Query: other symbionts welcome.”

            “Of course they are, Soundwave. As long as you trust them near me, they are welcome here.”

            His answer seemed to satisfy the carrier-host as he pulled a credit chip out of his subspace and handed it to the Praxian. “Query: secure place for chips.”

            “I will be getting one from Red Alert later this cycle that I ordered earlier. I can charge what the symbionts choose to the chip whenever they choose to pick them up, or I can add everything together over a specific time frame and charge it at that time.” While he spoke, he picked up one of the small boxes he had created, but stopped himself before he opened the display case. “Do you want the ones that I already have made, or would you prefer that I create some wafers or spheres?” That question was directed at both symbiont and host since they would both have a say in what the boltbat frame got.

            “Preference: spheres. Bars: adequate. Query: time until created.”

            “I can have the spheres done in a couple of orns since I need to create a new batch of the gold-infused mid-grade before I can create the spheres.”

            “Preference: wait until spheres created.”

            He nodded. “That is fine. Is there anything that I can interest you in other than those this cycle, then?”

            Soundwave’s helm shook, prompting the Praxian to begin placing the small trays back in the display cases so as to preserve them further. Ratbat pouted at the decision to not purchase any at that time, but he was not going to complain about that in front of someone that was not in their cabal. He launched himself the short distance to the carrier-host’s shoulder where he perched quite contentedly as they left the small shop and the rather weird owner.

            “Ravage needs to check him out. He’s _weird_.”

            Soundwave’s shoulders shook in a silent laugh at the statement. “Ratbat: also weird. Query: Ravage should investigate.”

            That was the last that Prowl heard of their conversation before they were too far away for his sensors to pick up their voices. Perhaps they would return soon, but he did not think that he would have much warning as to when any of them were going to grace him with their presence. They were just that good at evading any of the sensors that could be, legally, set up around the shop or within it. Jazz would be happy to install them, but if they were ever found and reported, he could be brought up on charges. It would not be worth whatever little he could gain from them. Perhaps he should invite him over, even though he had no need for his less than savory skills at that time. That was something to think about until the next customers came in.


	5. Special Operations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz finally returns from his mission and Prowl decides to get enough recharge, until it is interrupted by the arrival of a good friend that he has not seen in a long, long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used a few things that I picked up from reading gatekat fic, so some of the terms are definitely not my own.

“Heard ya ‘ad some int’restin’ customers tha las’ few days, Prowlah,” his closest friend, confidant, and lover stated, appearing from seemingly nowhere in the middle of the large kitchen in his isolated cottage by announcing himself. He had been aware of his presence for several breems, thankfully, or he may have attacked the mech at the sudden breaking of the silence that had been kept. “Ah need ta ‘ave a hit put out or talk ta aneh o’ tha mechs?”

 

“Pssh,” he snorted, his attention still firmly focused on the mix he was slowly whisking together. The humans had come up with some of the most amazing culinary inventions that he had finally convinced Wheeljack to upsize for him relatively recently through both blackmail and bribes, especially since it allowed him to experiment with the creation of treats he had long been unable to even attempt since he had not been framed with the appropriate transformations. “I should have known you’d put microphones all through the shop, if only to keep tabs on me. Your old habits deactivate hard.”

 

The other black and white frame flopped back on the cushioned couch – another great adaptation from the humans – and retracted his visor so that he could massage around his optics, his helm leaning back to expose his throat and neck cabling and tubing. It showed his absolute comfort with the former tactician and trust in the mech he was sharing space with. “Ratch went a li’l far though tha othah day. ‘E knows bettah than ta mention that word in fronta ya. Plus, how was _Ah_ unaware ya went ta tha Hub ta talk ta tha mech that’s followin’ Sides’s secon’ ship? An’ _‘ow_ didn’ Ah know _‘ho_ it was eithah?”

 

“Analog is even better than Red in detection, though he has some help in that regard with his cabal, as I’m sure you heard during my conversation with Soundwave.”

 

“Was s’rprised ya let ‘im know ‘at much,” he murmured tiredly, helm rolling so he could look at the sleek form of the doorwinger from liquid silver optics. “Ya don’ norm’lly share ‘at much with’ aneh’un.” The degree of his exhaustion was obvious with the way he focused entirely on the latter part of the other’s sentence, though that could have been because he recognized the designation and description at spark level and saw no need to ask any further questions.

 

Prowl chuckled lightly at the slurring words from his sometime lover. “If you will wait for just a few more breems, I will be finished with everything for the evening and can devote the entirety of my attention to you.”

 

A spark lit in those seldom revealed optics at that information, hearing the unspoken offer that, though tempting, he would be unable to capitalize on since he had just returned from a mission that he had been unable to recharge much at all during. That was unfortunate since the doorwinger rarely allowed him to take a rain check on that sort of attention since he only rarely had the time to devote to such an undertaking. “Ya ‘ad a ‘ard week, Prowlah?”

 

“Not overly, though the situation with the symbionts still stresses me since my like for them – and them for me – was well-documented in public records long before the war began. I miss being someone that they could just walk up to and greet even if we didn’t know each other personally.”

 

He nodded in understanding, though the other did not see as he had yet to lift his helm from what he was creating. As one of his handlers many vorns before, he had become aware of that factor in what kept him grounded and promoted it shamelessly, going so far as to have Analog assigned as his partner to ensure his mental health at the time, entirely unaware of the close bond they would form on a mission their other handler had assigned them not long after the carrier-host had been transferred. Not only had that assignment done amazing things for their intel, but it had changed the entire dynamic between the three of them. He had moved from handler to trusted confidant since he had used his communication codes to help them out of their predicament even after he had been ordered to cut his losses. They had always been closer than he had been to either of them after that, but then he had been transferred to a different precinct and given a new team along with being ordered to have no contact with them since they had brought out the worst in his insubordinate nature. The two mecha he had been assigned were never able to compare to those two, who had never been far from his processor since the first time he had met each.

 

“Soun’wave’s still bein’ standoffish, Ah ‘ssume?”

 

“Since I got out of the government, I have only seen Ratbat – and that was what you heard from the shop. “He covered the bowl that he had been mixing and set it to the side before gathering his utensils and neatly stacking them in the drier. The energon and molten elements would be able to be scraped off with a wire brush after they dried and put in a recycler, where they would then be sorted and reused. None of the Neuts – outside of the scientists – had liked the idea, but the former Autobots and Decepticons had all found the invention to be something that required implementation. After all, part of the reason for the war had been competition over scarce resources since the Council had begun limiting how much was released for public consumption. None of them wanted there to be a repeat of that entire scenario, no matter how much the Neutrals seemed to be working towards it through legislation and their inability to adapt.

 

“Awh. Ouch, mech. Ah could try an’ talk ta tha mech, but Ah don’ think it’d do ya much good. ‘Least Analog should ‘rrive in tha nex’ few cycles or so, righ’? Can get ya cuddlin’ in then.”

 

A slight grin crossed the Praxian’s face at the slurring words from the normally bright and chipper mech. Very few were allowed to see that side of him since it was deemed too risky to appear as anything less than fully awake and fully aware unless one was counted among the trusted. He was happy to be among them since seeing the former Third in Command like that was one of the cutest – and, oddly, the sexiest – things he could recall ever having been a witness to. His spark whirled in its chamber for a quick moment at the thought of having a warm frame in his large berth with him when he came out of recharge in the morning. Since touching had become such a big thing between the former soldiers due to the close quarters that they had been forced to keep, he had been missing the presence of a friendly and familiar frame and field nearby at all times while the saboteur had been gone and the few others he counted as such had been busy, along with not being quite as welcome in his berth since Jazz refused to share his spot with but a select few mecha, most of which were not even on Cybertron yet from where they had been scattered throughout space.

 

“He should be in earlier than all that since his ship is much faster than Sideswipe’s,” he murmured distractedly before turning his attention more fully on the other black and white. “Yes, I will be able to, though I think that your frame will do nicely for my ‘cuddling’ purposes this recharge cycle,” he stated with a coy glance at the stiffly relaxed frame sprawled on his couch. Jazz could use the soft flight grade berth and a cable unkinking massage along with a light detailing and maintenance session. He was more than willing to provide it – for a price.

 

His helm finials lifted from their slight droop at the thought of being cuddled for several joors without interruption. The heat that the other black and white gave off was always higher than most, since he had been forced into a smaller frame than his spark could support so that he could instead use the upgrades to his processor, and so inviting since he normally woke up cold. “Soun’s ‘mazin’, Prowlah. Even bettah if ya ‘ssage meh ta rechar’. Even brought a small batch of Mixmastah’s new concoction,” he offered with a squeaky wave of his hand towards the corner he had stacked the crates in before he had announce his presence, though he was sure that the doorwinger had known he was there regardless of the fact that he had been absolutely silent. It also seemed as if he could use more maintenance than he had originally thought since his frame was making those kinds of sounds. “An’ why don’ ya live in ya shop anehway? Ya got ‘nough room there.”

 

“There _is_ enough room, but I would be found far too easily there and all of the devices allowed there would be governed by the laws for businesses, which the Neuts got more restrictive on for some reason. It is not like that precludes us from putting listening devices on them or ourselves – or having one of the symbionts tail them. Plus, do you think I could booby-trap the shop as easily as I can this house?” he asked with an expansive gesture as he dried his hands before tossing the cloth on the counter. He took stock of his kitchen quickly, deeming it clean enough for the time-being so that he could focus his attention on the Porsche. “It is highly unlikely, though I believe that most mecha would believe the same of what I am about to do.” His grin and molten optics would have shocked most mecha that had ever met him and sent most of them into a frantic call for Ratchet, but all they did to Jazz was send his spark whirling in its chamber in anticipation, no matter that he was far too exhausted to follow through with what he wanted to do.

 

*

 

He grumbled unintelligibly as an insistent ringing pulled him out of sorely needed recharge, jerking his hand from where it rested on white plating to fumble for the sensor of his comm. receiver and came close to smacking himself in the face as he misjudged distances. Whoever was calling him at that time would feel the rough side of his temper since all he wanted was to return to his recharge and his recharge partner.

 

“What?” he bit out as the call finally connected.

 

“Autobot Commander Prowl?” the voice on the other end of the communication asked, but continued before he could confirm or deny. “There is a large Neutral docking an unidentified ship that asked for you.” In the background he heard his long ago partner shouting for the mech on the line to ‘let him recharge’ and ‘said at earliest convenience’, though with much more profanity that would have left them laughing at the one being cursed’s expression at any other time.

 

“Tell Analog we’ll be there in couple of joors,” he grumbled, lifting his fingers from the sensor to abruptly cut the call and leave the mech’s audials ringing with his displeasure.

 

Jazz snickered, rolling to his other side so that he could face the doorwinger and be able to calm him down from his pique. Leaving Analog and his cabal anywhere without supervision was asking for trouble, especially after he had called the carrier-host a Neutral. He had never been able to stand them and quickly became offended when called one for all that very few Autobots or Decepticons had ever seen or met him – and most of them were deactivated.

 

“Is ‘at tha punishment ya gonna saddle tha li’l Neutral with? An angry an’ perturbed An’log ain’ verrah gun ta be ‘roun’, but Ah ain’ sure ‘e’d un’erstan’.”

 

“But I was rechargin’ good,” he whined, not bothering to open his optics and look at the saboteur. “First time in a while.” He pouted, knowing that it would do nothing to help his case.

 

“Aww! Ya poor, li’l, abused sparklin’! That ain’ ah reason ta take it out on anehone else, an’ ya know ‘ow An’log can be. Plus, don’ ya wan’ symbiont cuddles?”

 

“’Course I do,” he mumbled, one optic slowly opening to fix on Jazz, though he could tell that he would still appear pixelated as Prowl’s optics were still slowly whirring to their normal setting. Battle readiness had not been triggered in the Praxian since the comm. number had not been labelled as urgent and neither had the message, meaning that coming out of recharge was a rather slow process and was still a novelty to the slightly smaller black and white. “Been missin’ them for far too many millennia, ‘specially since Blaster didn’t want any of his near me during the war and demanded to be at all of their reports so that even if they were interested in gettin’ to know me, they were too protected to act on it.”

 

Jazz had to hold back a chuckle at this side of the tactician that had cowed Megatron just by stalking up to him and jabbing a finger into his face even though he only reached the warlord’s chest, even as he wanted to frown at how he had been treated by their own faction. Starscream had been absolutely _appalled_ at the way he had cowered and Soundwave’s symbionts had laughed themselves silly over his facial expression. Noone would believe him if he tried to share his impressions of the doorwinger, even to those that had been closest to him – other than the carrier-host they were going to go pick up from the docks as soon as he could get the other mech up.

 

“Ah though ya got ‘long wit’ ‘im.”

 

His optics slowly became more aware, focusing more fully on the liquid silver optics such a short distance from his own, recently changed, ones. “Only in a professional capacity. Cliffjumper and I were better friends and Wheeljack was on better terms with Ratchet after a huge explosion than we were on a normal basis.”

 

Glancing over their frames, he shifted slightly away from the doorwinger to get a better view. There were some faint paint transfers where they had rubbed against each other in recharge, but nothing that was truly noticeable to anyone outside of the former Special Operations units from the Autobots and Decepticons, who would all find the sight to be relatively common. The only others that might notice would be the medics and they were more likely to turn it into more than it had been. “Well, Ah’m d’clarin’ us presentable,” he stated, though he made no move to shift out of the Praxian’s loose hold as he was more than willing to return to recharge even though his sense of responsibility was pushing for him to get up and moving.

 

“I guess we need to go to the docks then since we’re already out of recharge.”

 

“Seems like ah good ahdea.”

 

Several long moments later, they finally rolled out of the berth – literally, in Jazz’s case, though he landed on his feet. Prowl snorted a short laugh at that, thinking the saboteur should have been named after a cat with his ability to always land on his feet, both figuratively and literally, instead of a type of music.

 

If he could say nothing else about the situation, though, he was glad that the drive to the docks was going to be relatively short since none of the Neuts had wanted the land that was located so close to the ships. It was too loud for their liking, though they were overly sensitive considering they believed that the Twins and the mech-kin were overly loud. That had left it open to the dispersed settlement of the former Autobots and Decepticons. Noone outside of the two formerly warring factions knew what they had set up within the area for themselves, though there had been some entirely unsubstantiated rumors concerning such. After all, none of the Neuts had even thought of recording what entered and left the shipping docks in its entirety like Red Alert currently did. They would have been quite suspicious if they had known over half the things that had been brought in through more illegal fashions, which Red Alert was also more than aware of and actually helped direct.

 

Hopefully Analog would be happy to help with the operations they were currently running and also with the little bit of smuggling the former soldiers were currently doing. The more ships that they had, the quicker that they would be able to finish their projects, though if all he wanted to do was start his own business, he would still be more than welcome. Very few of the businesses that had started were really welcoming towards their ‘kind’ as the Neuts persisted in calling them, and thinking of them as, Destroyers. It was a descriptor than none of them agreed with as they had not been involved in the cause of most of the damage done to the planet – that had been the Senate and the entirety of the population, of which all of them had been part of. The fact that their scientists had joined forces and were working on returning the planet to a healthy state showed a much heavier commitment to their world than everything that the Neutrals had done since many had fled the surface millennia before. They would never see it as such though.

 

Jazz’s hands caught his helm between them and guided him so that his golden chevron mount pressed firmly against the central medallion of his own, attempting to calm him before he worked himself up into a fit that would take the better part of the day to calm him down from. After several long moments of leaning into the doorwinger’s frame, the former tactician finally relaxed and pulled back slightly as to press a chaste kiss to unresisting lip plates.

 

“’Long as ya don’ take ya angah out on tha poor mech ‘at called ya. ‘E’s gonna ‘ave ‘eard ‘nough from An’log afore ya even get ‘ere. Plus, ya gonna need all ya en’gy fo’ tha symbionts, even ‘ough Ah gotta steal ‘em from ya fo’ a while fo’ debriefin’.” He paused for a long moment, savoring the rare bit of intimacy he was able to steal for his own before he had to break the moment of peace. “Now, we gotta get goin’. Ah alreadeh know Deepfiah ‘s gonna be outta tha debrief real quick since ‘e got injured right bad awhile ago and is only recentleh gettin’ ‘ealed ‘nough ta be back in tha field.”

 

Suddenly alert optics pierced his own at the mention of one of the symbionts. “When did this happen and why was I not informed?”

 

He shrugged. “An’log said ta not tell ya an’ Ah wasn’ gonna do anehthin’ ‘gainst ‘is wishes. ‘E can get a li’l scareh when ya do somethin’ like ‘at.”


	6. Posturing and Claiming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumble enters the scene, and causes one.

“Oh, slag it all!” he cursed, bouncing to his feet and rushing into the kitchen to stuff sealed containers full of treats and confections that were required to stock his shop into his subspace. “I’m going to be late!”

 

“What are you gonna beh late fo’?” Deepfire asked drowsily, having been woken by the jostling he had just received since his helm had been laying on the Praxian’s thigh. He stretched after hopping off of the couch, his spinal linkages settling back into place with a sharp crack, before following the black and white into the kitchen for further investigation. There had to be a good reason for his recharge to have been interrupted so rudely.

 

“I have to open the shop in the next couple of breems – which I could still accomplish if the new speed limits weren’t in place. However, the Neuts got their way on that bit of the Compromise and, since Drift had all but demanded a racetrack on our land already, we gave in on that to get something else. Right now, I am questioning that decision, though I think that what we gained was more important and that the Neuts also have no idea how to handle speed and situational awareness simultaneously to any degree, or at least not to the degree that we have learned.”

 

“And ya can’t stay closed for tha cycle? Plead fam’ly ‘mergency?”

 

“No, I can’t be closed for the day, even for a ‘family emergency’. The shop only recently opened and being opened late will leave a bad enough impression with the possible customers. They should be able to depend on timeliness.”

 

Deepfire’s tail waved lazily behind him as he considered the argument the former tactician was making. While they had all been looking forward to getting to spend a lot of time with him – and he knew that the greeting Locator, Pounce, and Diver were going to give him would be more than amusing – there was little that he could truly use to argue with him. They would be able to regal him with their tales as easily there at the shop as they could when they had him to themselves, though they would be required to refrain from mentioning sensitive material in front of the Neuts or former Decepticons as the information was limited to the agents on the case and the command element of the Autobots.

 

“Fair ‘nough,” he finally conceded as he returned his thoughts to the matter at hand from where he had been considering the show that Locator would put on in an attempt to act out their parts in his stories as he related them to the Praxian. “Ya’ll give me a ride and I’ll lounge around the shop.” He ran a critical optic over the doorwinger’s frame. “As long as ya’ve the room fo’ me.”

 

The amount of free space in the Praxian’s interior appeared to have shrunk since he had scanned another alt mode when they had tried to disguise themselves on Earth. That could make it much more difficult for him to fit as it had already been a rather tight fit before the war had begun and Prowl had partially reformatted to an even more armored variation of his frame type, especially since he appeared to have a transformation that allowed for very little interior space at this time. He could not be sure though as he had yet to experience much about the black and white’s new alt. Analog, his carrier-host, had been approached to work as an Autobot bounty hunter at about the same time Prowl had chosen his heavier armor that he had been encouraged to take, meaning that they had been unable to even test the limits of that alteration. With both Prowl and Jazz having argued for his acceptance, he had caved rather quickly, especially when presented with the facts and extrapolations that Prowl had done that showed how much safer his cabal would be operating in that capacity. Where he had gotten some of the information that he had used in those calculations was a mystery, but even if it had been a premonition, they would have agreed with him, he was just that good.

 

The black and white looked over at the large frame of the cyberwolf that had first stolen his spark when they had begun working together. “You should be able to fit if I put my seats down and open the trunk up to the passenger compartment as well, as long as you are comfortable laying down instead of sitting. You should still be able to see through the windows if you do, though I hope you will not injure your spinal linkages unnecessarily.”

 

He frowned at the reminder of his exclusion from the events that had taken place that had almost resulted in the cyberwolf’s paralysis, if not amputation at the hips. The fact that they had not had easy access to a medic had left all of the fine repairs to Analog’s systems, meaning that, with the severity of Deepfire’s injuries, he still had a long way to go before he could finally move as smoothly as he used to. Even now, Prowl knew that the cyberwolf would never consent to a medic’s attention, so he did not bother to ask, though he would be sure to offer massages and treats with the proper minerals for repair for the foreseeable future. Hopefully, there would be no need for the symbiont to do anything that would slow his healing that day, because he had been hoping to be able to go for a long run over the slowly recovering landscape. For now, that activity would have to put off.

 

He transformed down into his far outdated Earth alt mode as he stepped out of the door and off the porch, lifting the entire side of the car in a complex transformation to give the quadruped more room to maneuver in. It was not the most comfortable position he had been in, but he enjoyed being able to provide for Analog’s cabal in ways that he would never be able to his own. Only Jazz, because of his former position as his handler, was aware of the extent of the difficulties he had with his programming in relation to symbionts and any mech that was placed under his care, though he knew that Analog and Ratchet suspected there were problems with his core coding and frame compatibility. Neither had ever approached him about what they had noticed, but he did not believe that silence would hold for much longer since the war had officially come to an end. After all, Ratchet had been giving him suspicious – and then knowing – looks that heralded the fact that he had come to some kind of conclusion. Hopefully it was the right one so that the conversation would not turn in the decidedly awkward direction, which could lead to more of their interactions being impeded. Such an event would not benefit him to any degree as the medic was one of the few mecha that he considered to be a friend and part of his support network. It would also impact the amount of gossip he would hear, which was part of what had kept him so interested in the army and had kept many of them from thinking even worse of him.

 

The cyberwolf slid in slowly, careful to not scratch his plating against the sensitive plates that comprised Prowl’s interior, and arranged himself to his comfort. He barely fit. Thankfully, the trip in to the former tactician’s shop went relatively quickly and uneventfully, leaving the doorwinger in a more relaxed mood since no customers had been waiting on him to arrive. There was also little for him to stock since he had not sold much the days before. Sadly, this day did not seem like it would be any different since at least the day before had seen a few of the Neutrals stopping in to see what was there. Most of them had no knowledge of English, the most commonly used Earth language, and had no interest in learning, so had not known what the sign was advertising. Trying to translate it into Cybertronian was a lost cause, though, as there had never been a specific word for what he made.

 

Deepfire wandered around the small room, thoroughly categorizing every scent and sound that he came across. He sneezed loudly before wandering over and stretching out in front of one of the display cases to return to his interrupted recharge. The doorwinger had no need for his presence besides the obvious calming he experienced by having one of Analog’s cabal nearby.

 

The black and white gazed fondly at the teal and red symbiont before returning to his careful stocking. Hopefully, Deepfire would recharge as long as he needed to before awakening again. In any case, he was not expecting anyone to stop by that early, so he allowed himself to become absorbed in another of his novels for a while after he finished unloading his subspace before being rudely jerked from the book file by a deep, rumbling – and familiar – growl.

 

He looked up, only to see the bristling form of his cyberwolf companion glaring across the shop at the shocked face plates of one of Soundwave’s mech-kin twins. The expression on Rumble’s face quickly morphed into his own form of bristling bravado, his arms extending in a ‘come get me, bro’ gesture that confused Deepfire enough for his helm to twitch slightly sideways in curiosity. It was an old – very old – gesture that the blue mech-kin had picked up during their time on Earth and never overwritten with something more characteristically Cybertronian or ever having deemed it an inappropriate response to a situation. Sideswipe had used the same stance and gesture when confronting Menasor one time that had, amazingly, caused the combiner team to break apart because a couple of the members had been laughing too hard for the necessary concentration to stay combined. The red hellion had strutted around the base, basking in his glory, until the aftermath of the next battle.

 

“Come on, big boy! Bring it!”

 

The display was something that he probably would have found hilarious if he had not known of Rumble’s fighting prowess and his propensity for using weak spots to his advantage. As it was, interrupting such a display was not going to do anything to help Deepfire since they were used, in a rather primitive way, to determine hierarchy for symbionts and stepping in would make the one being protected fall in rank, which he would not do to either of them since he highly respected the both of them. The only thing Prowl really wished for right then was a good recording of what was taking place from one of Jazz’s hidden cameras, which would surely happen if the former saboteur was actively watching the feed, since he was sure that their respective carrier-hosts would be interested in watching their first interaction. It was definitely a likely possibility since the other black and white had confessed that he enjoyed watching him do just about anything, from reading to sparring to giving orders in the middle of a battle with a sniper rifle being sighted in on an enemy. In fact, he professed that last one to be one of the images that revved his engine quickest outside of those he had captured when they had previously interfaced.

 

When Rumble attempted to step further into the shop, Deepfire’s growl deepened further and he stepped forward in challenge as his plating flared, attempting to make him appear more threatening. It did nothing to phase Rumble.

 

“Oh, get over yaself,” the mech-kin stated with a negligent wave of his hand in the cyberwolf’s direction. “I’m ‘ere as a customer and happily bonded anyway. Don’t need tha mech ta feel complete. Ya really need ta get yer spinal linkages look at though. The repair’s goin’ real slow. Probably a bit more than it should be.” He then fully dismissed the other symbiont and approached Prowl confidently, though the doorwinger was sure that the former Decepticon still had a number of his sensors trained on the cyberwolf in case he became a further threat. “Gotta ladder or steps so I can get up on the counter?”

 

Deepfire snorted softly, his helm shaking as he turned his back on them, accepting the other symbiont’s presence in the same room as him. He curled back up where he had been resting, though this time he lay on his stomach plating and his optics did not shutter closed. He would remain wary of the other for all that Prowl seemed to accept his company easily.

 

“Of course, Rumble,” he answered with a wave in the direction of the set he had carved in the edge of the counter specifically to accommodate his frame type. It would not do to assume that each symbiont would enjoy, or even consent to, being picked up, so he had fashioned them with some help from Scrapper and Scavenger. The latter had also helped him find the materials that he had required for them. “I assume you are here because Ratbat mentioned the place?”

 

“Yep. Overheard the bat talkin’ ‘bout ya and how he was gonna be shinier than he already is, plus how ya needed ta be investigated.” His optics rolled dramatically as he climbed the steps to stand closer to the Praxian’s height. “Zee’s already asked if we can Duct Tape ‘im a few times since he don’t know the meanin’ of ‘shut the frag up’ or ‘quit ya stupid suspicions’, which I’m sure ya know all about with some’a yer Autobots. How did ya even stay awake long enough ta listen ta Perceptor or Bluestreak? Or deal with Red’s conspiracy theories? He gives tha Boss _migraines_ over tha little things.” The rhetorical questions garnered a sharp snort of laughter from the doorwinger, though he did have to agree with the observations at times. “Either way, I’m ta pick those up if they’re ready and I wanted a look of my own. We all gotta check it out if Sounder’s impressed.”

 

“Would you like a few samples of your own along with taking some for Frenzy?” he asked, doorwings jerking sharply forward in shock and surprise at the second-hand compliment even as he stepped behind the counter and over towards the display cases in case he agreed. “I can’t get you Ratbat’s today, but it should be done either tomorrow or the day after. The batch of energon is still being infused for the right taste and the right mix of metals still needs to be made.”

 

His red visor brightened in surprise and excitement of the offer being made since he had not been expecting anything of the sort when he had stepped inside for all that he had been hoping after the way his carrier-host and the boltbat had been greeted. Some of his hope was also based in the fact that the owner was Prowl – one of the Autobots they had come to know as extremely accepting and welcoming. None of the Decepticons knew why that was, but they were not going to question it since he had been the first ‘Bot they had been formally introduced to and he had made them realize that not all of those on the opposing side were as weak or as privileged as they had thought. This was only reinforced by some of the moves he used during the sparring that had taken place daily on Earth as the Treaty was drawn up by him and Thundercracker. Those that had stood out were ones exclusively used, and taught, in one of the gladiator pits that had been best known for the number of deactivations and injuries that required full-frame rebuilds that occurred there. That, however, left them all wondering how he had escaped and, to a lesser degree, how he had ended up with the Autobots instead of with them.

 

“Got anythin’ with magnesium? I like the burn ya get from it, but Zee don’t like it. His favorite’s sulfur, which _I_ think is too bitter. Plus, it kinda stinks.” His nose wrinkled slightly at the thought, showing the degree of his displeasure with both the smell and the taste. “Think he’ll be in later though. Sounders had him workin’ on a project this mornin’ that I was barred from.” He wriggled his fingers with a grin. “Somethin’ ‘bout bein’ too destructive.”

 

Prowl grinned lightly at the openness the mech-kin was showing around him as he pulled out a small platter that he stacked a few confections on as samples. He would have to hold out hope that the samples he had been giving out over the last few days would pay off in the long run since he had not yet turned a profit. If only the Neutrals that passed the shop each morning would stop in to see what was there, he was sure that he would be able to operate in the black. No matter what the future held for him, Rumble was there at that time and deserved to have the better part of his attention focused on him and what he was looking for, so he shoved his worries to the back of his processor and allowed an analysis to run on the information he had learned from the Neutrals the day before.

 

“There are several with magnesium, both pure and mixed with other metals. Some of them have energon layers in the middle or a sticky high-grade that is injected into a still slightly molten shape. There is also a specialty of mine available, which is a rust stick dipped in molybdenum and then rolled in magnesium flakes that falls apart rather easily.” Laying his selections in front of the symbiont, he pulled back to give him more room to look over what was there, which he took quick advantage of, even going so far as to reach out and rest a hand on his forearm to steady himself as he knelt for a closer look.

 

Rumble hummed deep in his chest for a long moment, hand coming up to prop his helm at the angle he desired. Reading his expressions would have been difficult for the majority of the population, but Prowl had no problem as he had been close friends with – and then lover to – a mech that spent the majority of his life behind his own piece of trans-steel. His optics danced over each of the pieces, picking and choosing the ones that looked most interesting to ask further questions on. Before he was even able to ask, Prowl pointed to one of the ones that he had spent the most time looking at.

 

“That one is made of thin silver wafers crushed and dropped into a slightly molten mixture of magnesium and tin that is allowed to cool and then broken into the rough pieces you see here.”

 

He pointed at another. “These have a thick bar of magnesium that is covered in a layer of copper, thicker on one side than the other, and then the side with a greater amount of copper is rolled in a tray full of magnesium flakes and carbon powder.”

 

As he paused to decide which to next describe, Rumble broke in. “Mech, how’d ya _know_?”

 

Prowl chuckled lowly. “I have been with Jazz for the majority of my life. If I had not learned how to read a mech’s expression through, and despite, the visor, it is unlikely we would have won the war. We had many the discussion, and made many the decision, without even speaking a word to each other outside of what was being said to keep a conversation going as a cover.”

 

“So _that’s_ how come we couldn’t find any comm. signals ‘tween ya! Never was any!” He gave a short fist pump at the knowledge. “I _so_ won that bet!”


End file.
